


Of Flowers and Grief

by LiberaMeDelailah



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Herbology, Hopeful Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I needed to write to feel better, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Medieval Medicine, No Sex, Sad, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22428139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberaMeDelailah/pseuds/LiberaMeDelailah
Summary: There’s an iciness inside of the heart that cannot be melted with the power of a candlelight. In the darkness of the soul, there are monsters lurking that cannot be tamed nor defeated, and so, we live on.Broken, but unbent.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	Of Flowers and Grief

You were about to turn off the candles on your cottage, ready for another long and empty night. You stared into the candlelight a while, feeling the warmth against your skin, hoping it would wash away the iciness you felt deep inside your heart. Outside, the only sound was that of the wind, and maybe, in the distance, the howling of a lone wolf. How long did you stare at the candle, you couldn’t really tell – too entailed in a world filled with darkness and cold.

_It was always cold, and dark_

_Oh, sweet heart of stone._

It was a distant voice that brought you out of your daydreaming, and a strong, panicked knock on your door. You opened, finding there a teenager and a young girl – his sister, you assumed, and a man barely standing holding for dear life to the teen’s shoulder; two swords sheathed on scabbards on his back.

The teenager and his sister were both from the village close by… You could remember seeing their faces somewhere before – maybe even here – and they both seemed so very… panicked, and yet so inexplicably grateful to the man. You helped them inside the cottage, and laid the man on the only bed available, taking off him his scabbards. It wasn’t often that you had to take care of someone after dark, since most people would try to look for a healer instead of an herbalist.

You turned around to look at the children, the eldest had a wound on his cheek, the youngest was clean of any noticeable damage. The two of them seemed to be fine — if anything, they were a little shocked.

“What happened?” You asked, as you went to check the man. His hair was white, and on his face, a deep scar rested, from his forehead to his cheek. He was powerfully built — that, you noticed when you went to check on the wound on his side. It was made with a blade, perhaps a dagger. It wasn’t particularly deep, which was why you were so confused as to why he was in this state.

“Bandits… they had both me and my sister captive. H-He killed all of them but took a blow to the ribs. His name is Geralt— He said the blade was poisoned. Strong poison too. M-Maybe the bandits knew…” You got closer to the teen, putting some balm on the wound on his face before he could react appropriately. He jumped, probably because it stung. You checked the wound closely — that balm was probably enough to keep infection away, but it wouldn’t do anything about the scarring. “Your parents probably posted on the notice board of your disappearance, and he was kind enough to look for you. Those bandits… if the poison was strong enough to take this man out, they were probably slave traders.”

The little girl went to her brother’s side, and looked up at him with bright, scared eyes. You bent down to her height. “You two must be dead tired, go back home and rest. I’ll take care of him. I promise.”

The two of them nodded and were happy to leave you with burning candles and an unconscious man. You sighed. “It’s only you and I, Geralt.” You checked his eyes, opening them delicately. If he was hunting for slave traders and had two swords, you had some strong assumption about what he was. His eye was yellow, pupil so dilated it was obviously beyond anything humans could archive naturally. “A Witcher. The effect of the poison will leave his body naturally, then. His metabolism is fast enough to take it.” You were relieved. He was too heavy for you to try to sit him down, so you took a pair of scissors from your table and simple cut away his shirt — he would forgive you… hopefully. The wound didn’t need snitching, which was a blessing, but it still would be good for him to disinfect and get it cleaned up.

It took you ten minutes to clean him, and other ten minutes to bandage him. The candles kept burning brightly when you finally sat down on a chair by his side. You had gotten lucky, really. It was, after all, another lonely night. Having someone to take care of always took away those nagging little thoughts that came when the sun left the sky. Your eyes wandered over his resting body. Geralt looked like a man who didn’t sleep often, if the lines under his eyes were anything to go by. But then again, how much did a Witcher need to sleep? It didn’t seem like a line of work that allowed much time for resting.

Lucky bastards, really. Sleeping only meant that you had to wake up the next day and repeat the same processes of the day before. Wake up, tend to your herbs, prepare some balms, help some people with some rashes, perhaps, or maybe even someone with an eye infection — then, back to sleep. Rinse, and repeat. It wasn’t as if anyone ever came to you for a pleasant visit, anyways, you didn’t really have anything to offer personality wise. Everything you were was, basically, your knowledge of plants and balms.

Oops, there it was again. Those nagging thoughts. You shook your head and stood up. You wondered how long would the Witcher sleep — maybe he just didn’t want to wake up. Honestly that was a feeling you knew all too well. Wanting to simply lay there and let the darkness take you away… Right! You weren’t really doing a splendid job at keeping away those intrusive little thoughts, but it was hard. It always was. After all, you weren’t particularly good at anything, not even at what you did for a living. Perhaps that was why no one came by to visit; you simply weren’t enough.

You looked out one of the windows on your small cottage, the moon was shining brightly on the sky, the only sound was that of the wind, singing a small lullaby to the people that were probably asleep on their beds or cuddling with their lovers.

“You can almost forget about wars and monsters.” You whispered, to no one in particular, for no one was listening. Who would listen to the ramblings of someone like you, anyways?

You went to the oven — some tea would wash away those thoughts, surely! — and noticed now that Geralt was sitting. His eyes shone brightly, both because of their mutation and because of the candles around the bed. You gasped, not exactly frightened by him but not expecting to see him sitting down so soon. You put a hand on your chest, breathing to calm down your fastened heartbeat. “Fuck, Witcher, could’ve said you were awake.” He didn’t reply, not that you expected him to. “Anyways… go back to sleep. That family is probably too exhausted, they won’t pay you until the sun is out. And I’m all too happy to lend you my bed so, sleep.”

At that, he made a sound. Low, like a rumble, but he did not lay back down on the bed. He crossed his legs and stared at you while you boiled some tea. It was as if his eyes were judging your every move. Maybe he was wondering how it was possible for you to be an herbalist. After all, you looked like everything but. You tried to keep your eyes on the pot while you boiled your tea.

“You smell like grief.” Those words made you turn your head towards him, eyes widening ever so slightly. Now it was your turn to make some sort of noise on the back of your throat. “Amazing witchy power, huh? Is it part of your mutation? To smell off people. Maybe so you can smell off their fear when you approach?” It came out angrier than you intended, but really, what type of first words are those?

You gave him a cup with chamomile tea and took one for yourself. Even if he was being rather rude, you were still the host. He took it, not saying anything, but nodding his head as if it was enough gratitude. You wanted to grunt and stomp and pout but, not a good look for you to get frustrated over something so minor as a ‘thank you’. You simply grunted, and turned your back on him, pondering a bit on what he said.

“I guess that what I’m feeling is akin to grief, is it not?” You asked after a while, but it was a question more to yourself than to Geralt. You sat back down on the chair by the bed. “My, I’ve never really pondered much into it, now that I think about it. Those are simply nagging little thoughts. The type that will simply go away, morning comes.”

“Hm.” A gentlemanly answer, really. You looked at him as he took a sip of the tea. “It is a really deep grief; I can’t say I’m not surprised about you simply walking around the scent… it is overpowering.”

Those were one too many words, you expected him to talk much less than the entire sentence he gave you. Was it really such a foul smell? You took a sniff off your hand. “It isn’t the type of thing you can catch up normally.” He told you when he saw you trying to catch up the smell. You stopped sniffing yourself then and took a sip of your tea.

The taste was soft, and the warmth took you far, far away from… from everything. “I guess, it is a particular sadness that never really leaves.” You spoke on a soft, fragile voice. “It just stays buried and resurfaces occasionally. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. I’m just…”

“Unhappy, no matter what you do?” There was some emotion there. Something you wouldn’t had related to a Witcher. You nodded, then, and took yet another sip. “I can’t smell it on me, but I think maybe my scent would be very similar to yours.”

It took you a moment to understand, but when you did, a soft, saddened smile graced your lips. “I’m sorry.” You told him, simply. It was true. You wouldn’t wish something like that to anyone. Not really. “I’m really sorry.” You repeated, and it was funny, really, the irony of it all. An herbalist pitying a Witcher? A Witcher pitying an herbalist? It was so comedic you couldn’t help but chuckle, and that chuckle became a laugh, and that laugh ended in a small sob. Really, somewhere a bard should write a song! About a Witcher that felt sadness. About an herbalist that didn’t want to wake up.

You stood up and settled your cup on the table. “You better sleep. I’ll be outside for a little. I’ll tend to my plants.” Your voice broke a little, and you truly wish it hadn’t. What a stupid little herbalist, in a stupid little village. A woman no one really needed.

He didn’t follow when you closed the door behind yourself. It was a big lie, that you would tend to your plants, but it was better than staying inside with a man who knew about… about your sadness. Someone who understood it. It was too much. To look at him and see that same weight on his shoulders. Perhaps he thought no one needed him, too?

It was then when you saw a mare eating away your yarrows; tonight just kept getting better and better, huh? “Hey! Hey! Not— don’t—” She looked at you, to make you aware that she heard you, and continued to eat away your yarrows, giving zero regards to your words.

Honestly, were you some other herbalist and maybe you would’ve been angry, but you were too tired to argue with the mare. So, you simply sat down beside her and allowed her to eat away to her heart’s content. She just didn’t care that you were there and continued to devour each little flower that she could get her mouth on.

How much time passed with you sitting beside the mare, you didn’t know, but time passed all the same, and soon, on the horizon, the sun blessed your visage with its rays. Really, a beautiful, beautiful sunrise. Bright and powerful colors mixed away with the darkness of the night and just like that, yet another day started. Yet another morning, soon people would run around the pathway, simply happy to be alive. How envious you were.

You smiled, broken and tired, not feeling it at all, but smiled all the same. A hand atop of your head startled you, and you looked up to see a pair of amber eyes staring at you. He looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. Maybe he hadn’t.

“Do I still smell of grief?” You asked, on your face feeling remnants of dried tears.

He didn’t reply, and took a sit by your side, petting the mare that was finally done eating off your yarrows and was now pleasantly eating your calendula. Geralt took one big breath. “People need you.”

You raised your brow, confusion painted all over your face. He coughed, awkwardly, as if trying to look for the right words. “Life is… lonely. And hard. And it really doesn’t get much better if I’m honest with you, but there are people out there who need you. And, even if they don’t show it, or if they spit on you —” he stopped himself, and the hand that was petting his mare went to his wild hair. “Some people are… good. They’ll be grateful. They will appreciate your effort.”

He was… trying to cheer you up. Which, by listening to him talk, was probably one of the hardest things he had done recently. You tittered, softly, a small, breathy sound. He… He was nice. Maybe too nice for his own good. A Witcher with a kind heart? People would take advantage every time they could.

“You too, you know? People are ungrateful and they take you for granted; but they need you. Those kids yesterday, they needed you.” You sighed. “So, you better keep on helping, and I promise I’ll help, too. But you have to come visit me so you can see me doing my part.”

“I promise.” You smiled then. It was something to look up to, even if every day was a repetition of the day before. Even if you felt a void on the inside. “So… Keep moving forward.”

And you did.

_It was always cold, and dark_

_Oh, sweet heart of stone._

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write the way I was feeling, and I couldn't find a better way to do it than with this.  
> English isn't my first language - which is why some things might feel a bit out of place.  
> Thank you for reading, and I hope, if you feel like the herbalist does, that you find someone to help you fight  
> those monsters that lurk in the dark.


End file.
